


Vir Venasen

by Erynnsilver



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Collaberation, Dalish, Dark Solas, Dragon Age - Freeform, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Friendship, Mages, Mages and Templars, Non-Canonical Violence, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pre-Canon, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Sided with Mages, Sisters, Solavellan, The Conclave, double trouble
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5376950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erynnsilver/pseuds/Erynnsilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vir Venasen - The Paths Home</p><p>Join Shael and Irsalaera, two elves flung together in a world going mad, as they try to figure out what there place is in the world. And how to get Home, wherever that may be. This Fic is based of Erynn Silvers inquisitor Irsalaera and Faeriedagers inquisitor Shael. This story will follow Inquisition, and the events that eventually unfold. Our story begins a year before the Concalve debacle.</p><p>A Collaberation between Faeriedagger and Erynnsilver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Hall in the Woods.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter One A Halla in the Woods: written be Faeriedagger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shael and Irsalarea have a chance meeting.

Shael was crouched high up in a tree, watching and waiting for her dinner to run past. Secretly hoping for a deer, yet being hungry enough to settle for the skinniest of nugs. Her back had become to ache a few hours ago. The last of the daylight was leaving, plunging the forest into darkness. She would go hungry again tonight. With a heavy sigh Shael climbed down from the tree with all the grace of a drunken Bronto. She hadn’t made a kill in over a week, and she had eaten the last of the dried Halla meat two days prior.

  
She chuckled to herself as she imagined what her old Keeper would have said if he knew she had killed a Halla. Keeper Geren would be telling her something along the lines of “Ghilan’an will strike you down.” Or something equally ridiculous. It had been a long time since Shael had ran away from the Dalish and the only life she had ever known. On most nights she would look up at the sky, stare at the stars, relish in her freedom and be thankful she escaped. But on a night like this when she was half frozen and starved, she did miss the security of the clan. No matter how insufferable. Not that she would ever admit it. Stubbornness had always been one of her finer qualities.  
Her hand was frozen around her staff and it weighed heavy in her hand. Total and complete exhaustion, mental and physical was something she had never truly experienced until she ran away. But the worst was the loneliness. Five years alone, at first she enjoyed her own thoughts, the freedom to walk the fade in her dreams and not be labeled weird. The freedom to be herself. But now her own thoughts deafened her. She was truly nearing the end of her strength.

  
Shael had never been one to follow rules, she’d never made a friend, she didn’t fit in. She didn’t want to fit in, the Dalish could be so closed minded and naïve. She was 14 when she finally made the decision to flee, it was a warm summer night. She had packed her bags and simply walked away, she doubted they even noticed. One less mouth to feed come winter. But when that first winter did hit she was sure she would perish in the snow drifts that dwarfed her in size. And when she made it to spring, she knew deep in her heart she was stronger than anyone had ever given her credit for.

  
She wound her way up the mountain path towards where she was camped, it was a long twisting path, rocky and slippery with fresh snow. And then, in a heartbeat, she stopped. She saw the creature ahead. A Halla slender and white, almost camouflaged in the snow. She crouched, hunger taking over and the instincts she’d honed over the years kicking in. She readied a bolt of lightning, pulling on the fade, coaxing it through the veil, molding it with her mind into a force that would stop the creatures heart in an instant. It wouldn’t suffer.

  
“Stop! What In the name of the creators do you think you’re doing?!”

  
The voice scared the Halla away. “Fenhedis!” Shael screamed, twirling to face the mysterious voice that had just cost her a weeks worth of meals.

 

“Halla are our sacred beasts!” Rang out the furious voice, and Elven woman stepped out of the shadows. “You will not kill our Halla!”

  
Shale just stared, the woman was short, a little taller than her. She wore the unmistakable Vallaslin of Mythal, pale blue in colour, giving her an ethereal quality in the moonlight. She needed to make that kill, creators she was hungry, tears stung in the corners of her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall, all she had left was her pride.  
As Shael stared the other Elf strode towards her, she too carried the staff of a mage, she had deep red hair, a similar shade to Shael's, though hers was neatly braided and clean, Shael's was ragged mucky and in dire need of cutting.

  
“What were you thinking!?” The Elf asked, almost bemused as to why another Dalish elf would commit such an atrocity, though Shael no longer considered herself to be Dalish she hadn’t quite been able to find a way to wipe Andruil of her face, but given her recent experiences the goddess of the hunt seemed fitting.

“You are Dalish! You know Halla are to be protected.” The elf shouted. “What clan are you from, answer me!”

  
“I’m not Dalish!” Shael spat, voicing her disdain at last.

  
“You are a runaway?”

  
“How could you possibly know that!” Shael's voice was shaky, this woman was weighing her up fast.

  
The other Elf’s eyes suddenly softened, Shale hated being pitied, this Elf wore the same look all her clan had aimed her way, and she hated it.

  
“I don’t need your pity!” Shael growled. “I needed that Halla!”

  
“You must have been truly hungry to pursue such a creature, my name is Irsalaera.” She extended a hand.

  
Shael didn’t take it, years in the wilds had made her wary of strangers, and she knew Elves could be as dangerous as the Shemlen.

  
“Come back to my Clan, there is food and I dare say we may warm some water. I will not speak of the Halla if you do not" .” Irsalaera smiled, still holding her hand out.

  
Shael took the hand, albeit reluctantly. "I'm Shael"


	2. Dreams and Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irsalaera's understanding of the ladies initial meeting.

The dream is memory, flowing in to each other until finally it settles upon recent events. The things the denizens of the fade wished to see and know.

  
She had first taken the small elf for barely out of childhood, with her diminutive stature and build quite deceptive at a distance. It had felt eerie approaching her, like seeing a memory from the outside. On approach, though, it had become quickly apparent she was in fact fast approaching her prime. That was in some ways even stranger, like watching someone age before her eyes. An illusion, but one greatly exaggerated in the dream.

  
Neither had spoken since their introduction. Irsalaera had chosen to asked no questions, and Shael had offered up nothing of herself. It seemed to have put her more at ease, silence, with the occasional gesture, their only acknowledgement of each other. She even seemed to calm, and then there was firelight. Her unease returned immediately, with the people. Instead of flinching away or cowering her spine straightens and her hips acquire a swagger formerly absent. Irsalaera does not smile, but inwardly she approves. Shael very clearly does not enjoy the presence of the elves, but it appears she will not allow how much it disturbs her to be known.

  
“I’m not Dalish!”, the dream echoes, audibly, and momentarily shifts to the scene within the woods and her look of disdain. Curious, but ultimately none of Irsalaera's concern. It flicks back to it's established narrative, then, but a little ahead. They are already entering the camp.

  
In theory their arrival should have drawn more attention but clan Lavellan has long since avoided looking too closely at it's First. Many of them were wary of her still, which was not unwise. In the dream their feelings were much more intense and negative, demons watching her and hoping to gain.. something.. from the memory. In reality their unease was far less pronounced and her usefulness much more appreciated. It has been a long time since such simple tricks as these demons use could move her. Istimaethoriel, however, was a beacon of still, calm, and curiosity, in reality, and a much more powerful creature within this dream The keeper has many questions, as Istimaethoriel watches their approach. Irsalaera can feel them forming in the fade, her dream already building on her suspicions and knowledge. Between the curiosity and long experience Irsalaera had known they would come, and so she chooses to speak first.  
“This is Shael. She is hungry, tired, and as you see, Elven. I felt we should offer our hospitality to one of our own,”  
She feeels Shael's instinctive aversion to the phrase 'one of our own'. Part of the small woman comes shining through the grime of what must have been weeks, if not months, maybe even years, alone in the wilderness. She looks proud, and strong. Irsalaera had known that this would not end well. Nothing ends well when wood people start to look regal. _Mythal grant me fortitude...._

  
“I'm not Dalish,” Shael repeats, a glint in her eyes. _Recklessness. Foolishness._ In the dream, she shakes her head and despairs. In reality she had not so much as blinked, her face placid, smiling, and as Keeper Istimaethoriel expects from long experience. She draws a breath slightly too long, telling of her inner frustration.  
“Whatever she is or isn't, she won't hurt us and she is, as I said, hungry, tired, and elven. She means no harm,” While she IS sure Shael means no harm – She would know such things, she is certain – she is less confident that the woman would not, once again, say precisely the wrong thing in precisely the right moment. _This is what comes of bringing home strays, fool,_ part of herself whispers to another part. Shael eases to one side and shows her side to the keeper. A fiddle is planted on her back. With her staff, the only two things she brought with her. “I can pay, it's not charity,” she tells the keeper, half challenge, but not contradicting Irsalera. _Thank the creators_.

  
The dream-camp freezes, then.  
“She's looks like you, doesn't she?” Dream-Istimaethoriel inspects dream-Shael, dispassionately. It tilts it's head in a way Istimaethoriel does not.  
“No, I would not say she does,” Irsalaera replies, sparing a look at dream-Shael. No, while she suspects under the dust coating her hair there is the same shade of red, but other than that they appear to be vastly different women.  
“You can't lie here, 'Irlsalaera'.” The inflection on 'Irslaera' unmissable. “Small red-headed elves starving in the woods, outsiders to the dalish, unwelcome among a people who should be her own. She looks just like you,” the Dream-Istimaethoriel observes.  
“I assure you you are imagining things,” She tells it.   
It laughs.

Keeper Istimaethoriel probably thinks something similar, she realises. And then she swears by the creators. Less happily this time, as she wakes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bare with us while we get this thing kicked off


	3. The Dalish Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shael struggles with living in a Dalish camp once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three A Dalish Camp: Written by Faeriedagger

Shael was finding re adjusting to Dalish like incredibly difficult. Mostly they left her alone, which was completely fine as far as she was concerned. Irsalaera was nice enough, she didn’t seem to fit in much with the Dalish either. She wondered a lot who Irsalarea was, what was her place in the clan? She wasn't a hunter nor a healer, she didn't look after the little ones, she didn't cook. She had studied her a lot the first few days, she was assertive, yet kind. And kindness was a a rare commodity these days. She had asked Shael about her Violin though, Shael had had it for as long as she could remember, it gave her an escape from the Clan. She could run away temporarily in the music. She played good.

Shale was sat by the fire, chewing some dried meat, it was a bit overcooked and chewy but it tasted like heaven after her time in the wild. Clan Lavellan had made her feel as welcome as they could, they distrusted her, but then again, she distrusted them. Irsaraela said they were a good bunch. But she wasn’t about took take anyone on mere words alone. The elf however had made a space in her tent for her, sorted her out with blankets and pillows, some new clothes. Something did seem of about Irsalaera, Shale couldn’t put her finger on it. She had a weird way with words, everything she said was clearly thought out, she was very perceptive. This just made Shael uncomfortable, it felt like she could see right through her.

Nobody had asked her about her past, which was a comfort, for Shael didn’t want to speak about it, not even Irsaraela had pried, another blessing. Keeper Istimaethoriel would ask eventually, she could only play along for a while. The keeper was less than impressed with Shael’s attitude, it had shown ever so slightly. Shael was never going to pretend to be anything she wasn’t however, spent too long trying to fit in as a child, it only ever backfired.

She pulled her new furs around her neck, the weather had turned even more foul, she was secretly half glad of her new clothes, for they were warm, they didn’t have holes, and they weren’t ragged. She had told the Keeper she didn’t want charity, and was annoyed that she hadn’t been assigned any jobs yet, she need something to do, anything. She had expected to be sent out with the hunters when they went at dawn, but no, she had been left to her own thoughts around the fire. _Maybe they didn’t think mages much hunters_ , she mused. Lucky for them she though, she didn’t play well others.

“Is the meat good?” Irsaraela seated herself next to Shael.

“Sadly not up to my usual standards” Shael couldn’t keep her sarcasm in check.

The other elf chuckled. And joined Shael, chewing meat and staring into the flames.

They sat in silence for while, just staring at fire, Shael liked fire, it was her strongest element, she could hurl a fireball for miles, she didn’t even have to concentrate anymore to call flames, she just though flame and it danced on her fingers. Which is what she was doing now, subconsciously dancing fires on the tips of her fingers, playing with it. Boredom.

“Do you do that a lot?” Irsalaera asked.

“What?” Shael said. “Oh the flame thing? Yeah.”

“Just do not set the camp alight.” And with that Irsalaera stood up and walked away.

“Don’t tempt me.” Shael mumbled under her breath. 

She let the fire go out on her fingers and sighed. She supposed she should be grateful, but instead she felt trapped. Shael slowly got up and stared walking to her shared tent, thankfully Irsaraela had gone off the other way. She flung herself onto her new bedroll, and just stared at the fabric of the tent above her. She laid like that for an hour, but sleep didn't come, creators she was restless. She groaned and sat up, resigning herself to another sleepless night she grabbed her violin, and walked of into the forest where she could play, without disturbing anyone.


	4. Music and Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music and Magic written by Erynnsilver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irsalaera is concerned with Shael's place in the clan and Shael does something entirely expected.

 

“Some reluctance is to be expected, da'len.” Keeper Istimaethoriel was keeping their amusement well hidden under a kind smile, and as ever, Irsalaera was unfooled. She appreciated the gesture, but her exasperation only grew with the Keeper's clear disregard for her concern. “She is not the first of our people to become troubled, nor will she be the last. Give her time. She will reach out to the others given time. You did, as you may recall,” a fond wisp of affection and triumph runs through the Keeper. It is Istimaethoriel who taught Irsalaera to school her expression. The veneer of calm serenity expected of the well learned elders of the dalish settles on Istimaethoriel most comfortably. In truth Istimaethoriel is a deep thinker by nature and has been both placid and patient for the duration Irsalaera had known her, but she has her moments. The keeper also has a wicked sense of humour and is forever stifling laughter that only Irsalaera knows is there, and her curiosity is ceaseless, but of course, patient. Istimaethoriel has a confidence that she will see and know all, despite all evidence of her own mortality and limitations. Sometimes Irsalaera believes Istimaethoriel will be the elf who recovers all the secrets of Elvhenan, but she knows it is merely a flight of fantasy. They are all mortal.

  
“Creators,” Irsalaera swears. She does so far more often than she would like, a tick for all familiar with her that she would sooner stiffle, but something in her always reached for the Dalish Gods in times like these. They are gone, betrayed, and could not help her if they chose. Perhaps that makes it more easy to appeal to them.  
“I do not believe it to be so simple, Hahren. She is not me. No one is me, as you well know. I fear the wilderness, a world without clan or allies. I fear in such a world others would destroy me, and so I come to you staff in hand, open and willing to find allies. She has given no such indication. Indeed what I feel from her when others approach... I fear she will not reach out. I fear she will leave no sooner than she is strong enough to begin again, and that she will not survive. She is a mage, like you, like I. You are aware of the implications of such a thing in the world as it now is,” Irsalaera assumes a worried expression for Keeper Istimaethoriel's benefit.  
The keeper's placid emotions change very little as she considers Irsalaera.

  
“She is not Lavellan, my First. She comes and goes as she chooses. I cannot make her one of us. I will see what I can do for helping her integrate with the clan. That is all I can offer. The rest must come from her.” Keeper Istimaethoriel nods encouragingly, though her words are discouraging. It is the kind of contradiction which Irsalaera is used to.

“Speaking of which, shouldn't you check on your stray?”  
Irsalaera picks up her staff without comment. She cannot deny having considered Shael 'the stray' before now, but it rankles to hear it from the Keeper herself. She knows Keeper Istimaethoriel knows she is thinking of her as such. Keeper Istimaethoriel knows far too much for Irsalaera's good.

  
_She isn't Lavellan_ , she tells herself. You need not be concerned.  
She's yours, now. You brought her back. You do not abandon your own.  
Even if it is easier?  
Especially then. You chose who you are, Irsalaera.

  
She shakes her head as she leaves, lifting the tent flap. Between keeper and clan where no one can see her falter even slightly. Foolish, but such things still concern her. She keeps the clan thinking of her as untouchable as Keeper Istimaethoriel, and perhaps they will not wonder if anything further goes on. She lifts her staff from the doorway, such as it is, and her awareness of the background and the clan expands. She reorientates herself in a world of living things with all their complex emotions, and for a moment simply waits for the world to slide in to place.

  
It does not. She feels the clan moving about, the familiarity of routine colouring them calm to her. Almost like little little blue spots in her awareness. Further out the animals of the woods moved nervously around the camp. Those that did not have to avoided them, as was wise. She rarely faults the wisdom of the creatures here. Other than Nugs. Nugs are... different.  
There are Nugs close by.

  
She waits a moment longer before realising where things feel wrong.  
There is nothing in her tent.  
She checks for herself, of course. Magic is all well and good, but it is not infallible. The tent is empty. Staff and instrument vanished. She is irrationally angry for a moment. It is night; these woods are hardly devoid of predators; and Irsalaera herself had vouched for Shael. To be abandoned by her felt surprisingly personal. _Foolishness_ .  
_Well. Now you chose. What kind of person are you to be?_ She asks herself. _  
I have to chose every hour of every day._ A part replies, by way of answer.

 

Tracking a person in woods full of animals is an easy enough task. They are flustered and disturbed long after the passing, and she follows. She leaves far more of a trail than Shael does. The woman could easily be a hunter; Irsalaera is simply clumsy and ill coordinated. She does not need to be skilled. The more aggressive creatures, the ones hungry, stalking, excited, angry, hurt... she feels all of then like red coals in her awareness. Avoiding them is simple enough.  
It surprises Irsalaera when she hears the music. She has ever heard anything like it. A lonely wailing, almost, but melodic and calming. Surprising interplays of tone and vibration.  
She finds Shael not as far as she might have expected, her eyes closed, sitting back straight and knees folded upon a rock. What Irsalaera had taken for a fiddle positioned itself beneath her chin, playing it with a stick rather than plucking with fingers.

  
She sits herself down to listen. How such an instrument was maintained, she does not know. Shael must love it a great deal to have kept it in the wild marches.  
Eventually, Shael finishes her music, and opens her eyes, stretching her neck.  
She seems surprised to find Irsalaera with her.

  
“I had thought that a Fiddle. It is not, is it?” Irsalaera asks, openly circumventing the question of how she arrived or what would happen next. In truth she doesn't know how to explain her following Shael; she is not her keeper, and the other elf is free to leave, after all.  
“It's a violin.” Shael answers, still somewhat surprised. “I don't usually play around other people.” Irsalaera actually recognises anxiety, then. Shael's stance is awkward, even from that which Irsalaera has become accustomed to.

  
“I have never heard anything like it,” Irsalaera tells her. She feels Shael's mood darken just a little. “It is very pleasant, you must have a great deal of skill.” she adds, intending Shael's mood to even. It does not happen. Irsalaera dislikes it when she is unsure of what a person needs her to say. Intensely.  
“I was coming back you know, you didn't have to follow me.”  
_Oh._  
_Well._  
And then her expanded awareness returns to the fore.

Red. It feels red, and close, coming closer. Hungry. Large.  
“It would rather seem I did,” She says, even as her staff is moving and she feels the spell rip from her chest. The sheen around Shael betrays the presence of the barrier as the cat comes in to view.  
It is as large as she had thought. Irsalaera has never seen anything like it before. It moves like a shadow, and it is coming towards Irsalaera with speed she had not thought possible. She feels her own heart begin to speed up as she prepares her own barrier, but she has misjudged. Teeth and claws barrel towards her with speed she cannot hope to match.  
And then there is fire. The animal flies off course, directly to the side of Irsalaera, the flames almost engulfing it before it shakes itself off. It is clearly injured, and it's attention is now firmly on Shael. Irsalaera has never seen fire like that. Fireballs, a little. They are common enough to learn for defense against bandits and other assorted low lives, but not like this. Almost an inferno.

  
She raises her own barrier after a moment's pause. She cat is already focusing on Shael, who is conjuring another such flame, but like Irsalaera she has underestimated the speed of the cat. She runs, staff in hand. Flames and lighting were never Irsalaera's strong side. Learning to kill is not wise, is it? Until it is.  
Be quiet, me.  
It is already on Shael, who has fallen back, her violin on the gound a few feet from her. The barrier is holding, but it won't for long. Irsalaera hits it in the head with her staff. It snarls at her, and that is all the time Shael needs. The fireball is huge, and it engulfs both elves and the cat. Irsalaera feels the pressure of it against her barrier, burning it away. The heat following at the last moment as it is stripped. The ends of her hair curl, and she smells the burning of Shael's, too. When she looks, though, Shael is safe. The barrier held long enough, it seems. Shael looks at Irsalaera then, and she actually laughs.

  
“You HIT it? With your staff?” She pushes the heavy cat off of her chest, then. It slides off well enough.

“I am... less than skilled with offensive magics.”

“I can tell!” Shael laughs again. “You hit it!” Irsalaera cracks a slight smile then. She knows her aversion to be foolish and why not laugh at the absurdity. “You... your blade! You forgot your blade!” Shael gasps through her laughter after a moment. Irsalaera realises she is, of course, correct. And then she laughs at herself, too.

“And you trusted my barriers after I hit it!” she chuckles.  
Shael actually snorts “Worked though,” and then they dissolve in to giggling fits.  
Eventually, they breath freely again.  
“We should take this thing back,” Shael admits.  
“I believe the warriors would enjoy this story.” Irsalaera sighs, “They do enjoy hearing how terrible my fighting is.”

 


	5. Winter's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winters End Written by Faeriedagger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Shems are on the brink of war, what will this mean for Clan Lavellan?

The killing of the big Cat had become one of Clan Lavellan’s favourite campfire tales in recent weeks. Much to Shael and Irsalaera’s joint amusement. It had been retold a thousand times! By far the most in demand bit of the story was when Irsalaera hit the Cat with the knobby end of her staff, not the bladed bit. That demanded raucous laughter from the hunters, and even the stoic Keeper had burst into teary laughter. Evidently Irsalaera wasn’t regarded as much of a fighter.

"Tell us again please!" They Chorused.

"We heard a loud roar! And then it was upon us! All pointy teeth and claws!" Shael said, while mimicking a big cat, and scaring the children by firelight!

"What then!"

"The Beast pounced!" Shael shouted, while jumping up behind the children. They all screamed!

Shael hadn’t felt accepted by the clan until her and Irsalaera had dragged the giant Cat corpse into camp during mealtime, the entire clan had just started at them first, they were all seated around the main fire. And then they erupted into cheer, apparently it had been a while since anyone had managed to bring down a big mountain cat! The beast was quickly skinned and Shael and Irsalaera had the pick of the hide, as they had killed it down. Shael had decided she wanted a new cape, the craftsmen had made her a gorgeous one from the hide, it hung down her back just above her bum and fanned out beautifully, the clasp work at the front was carved out of the creatures bone, it was exquisite. Shael had never owned anything as beautiful in her life, and she was rarely seen out of it. Irsalaera had decided she had wanted something more practical, and had gone for some winter boots, they too were beautiful. The craftsmen had even made some lovely eyelets carved out of bone. There was still plenty of hide left after that, and that got given to the clan. All the children in the camp sported necklaces with Cat teeth, lovely little toys had also been carved out of bone for them. The craftsmen of Lavellan were brilliantly skilled. The children, much to their parents despair would act out the fight with their newly carved toys. 

Irsalaera had been incredibly modest however, she mustn’t have liked being the centre of attention. Saying things like, I merely held a barrier. In truth Shael had never seen a stronger barrier, especial a barrier that could withstand Shael's inferno.  _Her inferno normally shattered barriers_. Best be thankful anyhow, she would be more than singed otherwise. Shael was loving all the storied and re-enactments however, she had never been praised in her entire life. From that day forth she was a hunter once more. Clan Lavellan had practically begged for her to join the hunting parties, she had obliged them. Shael missed the openness of the forests. The freedom, the thrill of the hunt, the chase, the kill.

Things had been going well for a number of weeks. Shael hunted with the clan, and her friendship with Irsalaera was going strong. Any animosity was long forgotten and when they were in camp they were rarely apart. It was as winter started to thaw, and new shoots of grass emerged, that the first letters had begun to arrive for the keeper, letters warning of danger, and how the world was slowly crumbling around them. Keeper Istimaethoriel, was worried, she knew how Shem wars always ended up backfiring on the Elves sooner or later. Shael and Irsalaera had been called in to assist the Keeper, both had lived lives outside of the Dalish, and both knew Shems. Shael was worried, this was no minor skirmish, the Mages were demanding freedom, the Chantry controlled Templars wanted mages to remain locked away. Being a mage, Shael was immediately biased, she nursed a hatred for Templars and anyone who would restrict magic. _Just let them try and restrict her magic._ She would burn anyone to the ground who tried. Shael was all for charging in and helping the other mages, she told the Keeper as much. But Irsalaera and the keeper wanted to wait it out, see what happened next.

“We should act now!” Shael shouted, voicing her opinion for the thousandth time. “If they’re fighting their own mages can you imagine what they will do to us? We're basically Apostates!” She spat the word Apostate as if it tasted dirty on her tongue.

“There is little for us to do as of yet.” Irsalarea seemed too calm. “We may yet hope to see it run it's a course, ”

“And if it doesn’t?” Shael retorted. “What then? When the Shems rip up the camp and kidnap all of us mages and lock us in the nearest tower!”

“Quiet!” Keeper Istimaethoriel commanded. She had been quiet for a while, listening to the two redheads argue. “This is not up for discussion, for the moment we do nothing, and you will keep this information to yourselves.”

"I have seen Templars in action! They are Chantry controlled abominations themselves! They drain magic! They kill needlessly!"

"QUIET"

“But . . .” Shael’s argument died in her throat as the Keeper stared at her.

“Nothing Shael, we will do nothing.” Istimaethoriel warned. “Understand?”

Shael grumbled and stormed out of the Keepers tent.

The Keeper sighed and sat back down. “Keep an eye on her Irsalaera, make sure she is safe.”

“If I may Keeper" Irsalaera asked "What will we do of she is correct?"  

“Pray to the Creators she is not.”

With that Irsalaera left the Keepers tent, smile ready for the clan. Shields concern had unnerved her. Her words and fears beyond that one would expect from merely knowing of the shem mage hunters What had Shael meant when she said she had experienced the brutality of Templars? Were they really do terrible to face?  _With her fire she should have nothing to fear . .you will have to ask her. It can not be avoided._

Shael had gone straight to her tent, why wouldn't they listen to her! She had seen a Templar rage, Shael had all her magic drained from her in an instant leaving her an empty shell, for a minute she was Tranquil, and it had been the worst feeling in her life, the fade was always there for her, she could always feel it. And then it was gone and she felt alone. Truly alone. And she had been powerless.  _She had never been more terrified in her entire life._ Shael threw herself onto her bedroll fully clothed. She was angry, oh so very angry. 

 "Shael?" Irsalaera whispered.

Shael jumped, creators Irsalaera could be quiet when she wanted. "What?!"

"You have had unpleasent experience with Templars?" Irsalaera asked.

"You have got to be kidding!" Shael was getting more agitated by the second. "They're monsters!"

"I am sorry Shael, I should not have . . ." Irsalaera started.

"No i'm sorry." Shael interrupted. "I just hate Templars." Shael let her features soften.  _Did she have to fly of the handle at everyone?_ Irslaera didn't deserve that.

"Tell me. " Irsalaera didn't hide the concern in her voice.

"I got captured by them once, I got away eventually, but it wasn't pleasant." Shael began her story. "I had been in the wild a few years and I was starving, I decided to try my luck stealing from a stall." Irsalaera didn't interrupt. "They caught me on the outskirts of the town with half a load of bread. I tried to defend myself, which only gave me away as a mage. I had no idea mages were hunted, Dalish life had left me somewhat sheltered."

"They had you captured?" 

"Yeah." Shael sighed."They said I was going some where for my 'Kind' said they even accepted 'scruffy little knife ears'."

"A circle?" 

"I presume, some place called Jainen." Shael looked distant. "I escaped a few days after, thankfully I run fast, my magic was useless."

"Useless?" Irsalaera had no idea what she meant.

"The fade wasn't there, I reached out to it, there was nothing, whatever skills Templars have nullifies magic, it just cancels it. Thats whats terrifying, they can strip you of everything you are." Shael shivered. "It wasn't nice."

Shael had a nightmare that night. She was running. Running fast her heart beat booming in her ears, she felt sick and dizzy and faint.  _Creators the Templars were quick._  In reality the Templars looked just like normal Shem men, but in her dream their features were twisted and dark and cruel, like demons. With bright blue lyrium eyes. And maniacal laughter. Shael tripped over a twig.  _Mouthful of dirt, must keep running._ They were catching up. Shael readied a fire ball, she was about to hurl it when.  _Everything went black._ It was like she couldn't see properly anymore, she couldn't hear properly, the world slowed down. She tried to grab the fade again, but nothing, there was nothing. One of the Templars was violently shaking her, creators it hurt.! "WAKE UP" The Temaplar screamed.  _What? I am awake!_ "SHAEL!"

Shael awoke, dripping in sweat, Irsalaera had her by the shoulders.

"Creators Shael, what is amiss?" Irsalaera searched her eyes to make sure she was awake. "You were screaming."

"Nothing, just a dream, i'm good." Shael mumbled, incredibly embarrassed.

 

 

 

 


	6. Flames and Screams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 Flames and Screams Written buy Erynnsilver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irsalaera dreams dreams of fire and screams

The dream smells of burning pig. The vague impression of fire filled Irsaraela's awareness before she fully realised it; almost like firelight dancing behind closed lids.  
The screams began gently, just beyond her awareness, becoming clearer as the flames shifted to focus, bringing with them last night's death.

  
It was chaos. She had raised the alarm, the absence of things that should be there and presence of things that should not having woken her. The dream did not begin there, with the silent slitting of throats and her own shouts of warning.  
The armoured shems already loomed large in the centre of camp. The old and the young attempting to flee, children separated from parents as their parents gathered their wits and their weapons. One little girl screamed as her grandfather pulled her away from her mother, whose sword was already drawn. The uncommonly quick warrior was running in to the foray, trying to avoid her own people as much as the enemy. It was a mess. Their scouts must already be dead, the night watch raised no alarm.

  
In her dream the armoured shem's faces were grotesque masks. She cannot remember their faces and doesn't care to; the evil faces the rage demons chose surface.

  
One of them swings a sword in an arc above his head, a killing blow aimed for the speedy warrior. She raises her own sword and the blow is deflected down it, but the templar is fast, turning the blade and coming again from the other side. Shael has emerged and true fires. Not merely metaphors mixed in to her memory emerge.  
Her barrier springs up around the warrior as she deflects another blow, and Shael's inferno flies towards the templar who must decide what to deflect with his shield and what to leave to his armour. He chooses poorly; as Irsaraela's barrier springs around a trio of fleeing teens carrying a screaming toddler, he blocks the warrior's blade and finds Shael's flames to be considerably more powerful than he imagined.  
The warrior turns to find her next opponent, surveying the scene. Shael has already found one; an archer. The warrior however has not seen the archer yet and the barrier comes too late; she is struck in the side. She is down in an instant, as is the archer. Her scream echoes loudest through Irsaraela's dream, the flames all growing in response.  
She hears the child calling for her mother, the grandfather's objections. Mother raises her arm to signal her daughter that she is fine, and the sword she never saw comes down, barrier shattering. Three fingers aren't there anymore. There is blood.  
Her mana is returning but it isn't fast enough. She knows she cannot save this woman. Shael's attention is on another combatant, the shields deflecting her spells and the fire going wild. The inferno catches; another Templar in flames. The Templar above the warrior screams in rage and anguish; there is murder in that sound. He begins hacking at the warrior. The mana isn't back. Just moments. Seconds. Shael turns her attention to him and raises her staff.  
Time slows.  
Irsalaera sees the arrow.  
And she sees the child.  
Mana for one barrier. The arrow arches towards Shael; the child has wriggled from her grandfather and runs towards her mother. Her mother has lost her weapons and is trying to kick the Templar over.  
And the arrow is nearly here.  
The barrier springs up. The girl nearly reaches her mother before the templar, filled with rage, turns the sword on her. She probably doesn't even feel it. She does not scream.  
The arrow strikes Shael. Shael's eyes are filled with horror. She is alive.  
More than one child will die if they fail to win this skirmish. Shael, they need.  
The templar grins at the woman on the ground and wipes his blade for her, and is suddenly a pillar of flame. His screams are the strongest of all, and rather than fade as the fire had once done the dream flames grow to touch the sky.

  
The demon that is Shael's eyes burn in flames, just as the pillar. It moves towards her, just for a moment. Breaking the rhythm of the dream. Irsalaera looks at it, and her eyes are ice. It backs away, taking it's place in the narrative.

A hunter has reached the archers raining death and moves between them like a fox among hens. There will be no more arrows. Her barrier surrounds him soon enough. He will be well.  
  
The dream blurs a little. With the pillar in the sky, the warrior mother simply falls and her body elongates, changes. She is becoming a tree. Her daughter, too. The dead elves all spring in to trees. The dead templars are stabbed through the neck, each and every one, even the pillar of fire. As it happens each one becomes their own pillar of fire, their armour evaporating from them and their flesh retreating from their bones. They burn. All of them. The fire spreads to encompass the whole of the dream, the leaves of the trees their own burning flames. Shael herself becomes a pillar of blue and green flames. The wrath demons revel. She lets them.  
  
“May your soul be gathered by Falon’Din and carried safely.” She says to the trees, and the screaming abruptly ends.  
She wakes up.

 


	7. Dead Templars, Among Dead Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 Dead Templars, Among Dead Elves Written by Faeriedagger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shael comes to terms with the battle.

Shael was sat once more staring into the fire, overthinking everything. The clan was still reeling from the attack. It had been 2 days ago, the dead had been collected and swaddled in linen and oils, awaiting the funeral rights that would be performed late at night in view of the stars.

The Templars came in the dead of night, slitting throats in the dark, three were dead before the fight even began. Four hunters were counted among the dead, two warriors and a small girl, no older than seven.

Her mother had lain wounded and the poor child had ran to help, only to end up on a Templars blade. Shael had seen this, she ran towards the girl as a barrier cackled into life around her. Shael would never forget the little girl’s screams, but the mothers were far worse. The Templar didn’t last another five minutes, Shael burnt him till there was nothing left, she made sure he felt it. Evil bastard.

The fight had been a giant mess, they had been caught unawares. Irsalaera barely had time for her barriers. Thankfully she did, she saved a lot of lives.

Irsalaera was still busy round the camp healing who she could, comforting those she couldn’t, the little girl’s mother had died in the night, a blessing for the poor woman. Shael had never killed a man before, let alone so many. And creators there were many. But what upset Shael the most was that she had enjoyed it, she revelled in the fighting, in the blood. She had twirled her staff and danced around those she had already slain, setting alight the very blood in their veins.

She had become stronger since there last encounter, and while they had still tried to drain her mana, they couldn’t hold it for long. The look in their eyes was glorious when they had used all their strength and fire still crackled across her fingers. Shit she shouldn’t have enjoyed it. Except she did. The

Templars bodies had been piled up on the edge of the camp, piled up high, at least 20, maybe more. The majority had been killed by Shael’s inferno. The Keeper had been quick to praise Shael, for her strength and fighting ability, Shael didn’t want thanks for killing. But she accepted them none the less. All she had wanted was to finally confront the Templars, not at this cost. She had warned the Clan, if they had of just listened we wouldn’t be in this mess! There was no point her mind wandering that way, hindsight is a beautiful thing. But still they should have listened, Irsalaera should have listened. But they didn’t, nobody ever headed Shael’s words till it was too late. Not that she needed to remind them. The Keeper had looked apologetic.

This was no time for words it was time for action. Every time Shael tried to sleep all she could see was the child, running for her mother only to run on to a blade, the Templar hadn’t looked at her like a human, he just pulled the blade from her tiny body and wiped it on his tunic. We weren’t even people to them? Just knife ears. And even when Shael had managed a quick nap the demons came, flocking to her emotions. She was exhausted. She couldn’t even bring herself to play her violin, though she would play it tonight, at the ceremony, to lament the lost. Something long and sad and complicated. Something that resonated with abelas. “Have you got a minute Shael?” the Keeper asked, but Shael knew it wasn’t really a question. “Yes.” “The preparations for tonight?” “Irsalaera and I have sorted it.” It was all she offered in response. The Keeper nodded and left Shael once more to staring in the fire. Normally fire offered warmth and comfort to Shael, but it didn’t now, it just reminded her of burning corpses, and the abhorrent smell of flaming flesh. The smell was burnt into Shael’s nose, it was all she could smell, and all she could hear were the screams and all she could see was that little girl laying lifeless on the ground.

Give me strength. She had picked up the poor child and had ran off to find a healer. Irsalaera said there was nothing to be done. It was indeed too late, the child had been dead before she had hit the floor. Still it pained her. Her name had been Illoria. Her mother had cried it all night. Death had been a kindness to her. Shael hated being alone with her thoughts, but loved it at the same time. If she could get her anger out in her head, it wouldn’t explode at the next person she spoke to. Shael had never cared about fighting before, she had done it a lot, with other kids when she was younger, with other hunters in the wild who had been after the same quarry, yet she had never killed, and she had never cared. Shael had never cared whether she lived or died. But now she had many who depended on her. She cared about whether they lived or died. Stupid feelings! She shouldn’t care, this wasn’t her family, she had no family, the only family she had ever had abandoned her in the woods when she was a babe.

But the truth was she had come to care for this clan, her anger was borne out of care, not that she was about to admit it. The sun was setting, it would be time for the Funeral rights soon. Shael wasn’t ready, she would never be ready. But she had to, being with the clan had given her pride in being Elven again. We are the last Elvhen, never again shall we submit. Shael would never submit, she would rather die. And if not for Irsaraelas barriers she would have. Shael wasn’t gifted with healing or barries or anything mildly defensive, all she could do was destroy, her talents were aligned that way.

It was a clear night, the stars were shining already, and the sun hadn’t quite set yet. The fire was burning low and when it went out the stars would seem all the brighter. Shael had never been one for beliving in the creators, calling to them when angry or scared was a reflex. But she had prayed then, to the creators or the maker or anyone who was listening to look after the souls of Lavellan’s dead, for they did not deserve to die, they had been attacked. She also prayed for the Shems to rot for all eternity, to be cast from the Maker’s side, or whatever they believed in. As the sun set fully the Elves of the clan gathered around the large hole that had been dug a day prior. They sobbed and held each other, among the dead were three fathers, two mothers, all sons and daughers, brothers and sisters. Friends. Shael just watched the scene from where she was sat. Alone. There was nobody to hold Shael, there never was and there never had been.

Tears stung in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She still had her pride, even if she had nothing else. And she didn’t have anything else, nobody would mourn if she died. All those years alone in the wild, nobody would have noticed if she had perished one winter, her body could have been picked apart by wolves and vultures. Nobody would have known, there was nobody to care. Best not to dwell. It was time for the funeral.

Shael picked up her violin and slowly walked, back straight, over to where the other Elves gathered, they all looked to her offering weak smiles. Shael tried her best to smile back, but it faltered. She wouldn’t pretend, not now. Shael began to play as the bodies were carefuly placed into the hole, she could not look she daren’t. She just shut her eyes and felt the music. It was sad, and low and harrowing, a true lament. Irsalaera had arrived, as the keepers First she was to perform the rites. Her voice filled the camp and Shael continued to play her violin. It was all Shael could do. The music carried on, sad and melancholy. She hoped the dead would understand the music in way of an apology, she tried to save them all she really did. Failure. Irsalaera finished the prayers. “May your soul be gathered by Falon’Din and carried safetly.” Irsaraela sung. “For all the years you carried me.” Answered the clan. Some voices were louder than others, some were completely choked. Shael’s finally finished playing, there were no cheers. The remaining hunters filled the hole with mud, the trees were planted, as was customary. It was all a blur to Shael, she wanted nothing more than to just sleep. And to never wake up.

There was no celebrations that night. Shael cried herself to sleep, thankfully before Irsalaera came to bed.


End file.
